


Of Packages and Paperbacks

by whoopsitseva



Category: Chaos Walking - Fandom, Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness, Chaos Walking Series, Chaos Walking Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dyslexic Todd, Dyslexic!Todd, Established Relationship Ben and Cillian, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Modern AU, One Shot, One-Shot, Short, Slow Build, Todd is a deliveryboy, Viola works in a bookshop, alternative universe, bookshop au, bookshop!au, just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoopsitseva/pseuds/whoopsitseva
Summary: Based off of @e-a-d-e 's awesome bookshop AU idea (http://e-a-d-e.tumblr.com/post/104223589905/consider-this) please check her out.but honestly you're probably following her already.- bookshop au where Todd brings the shipment of books in once a week and every time the book store owner, Viola, recommends him a book to buy and read and he goes all red bc he can’t afford it so Viola lets him take one for the week and read it and bring it back and thus bonding and falling in love shenanigans occur.I made some changes but I think it's pretty close! And, because I love TKONLG's format, I put a lot of misspellings in on purpose, at least for Todd.My chaos blog is @needapootodd at Tumblr.Hope you enjoy





	1. Wednesday - Todd

Todd

Effin’ stupid. All of it. Just effin’ stupid, and when I say all of it, I mean it. My effin’ stupid ruddy dog, and effin’ Cilian and these effin’ stupid shipments that now I got to deliver each week with Cillian until Ben’s effin’ ankle gets better, which could take weeks or months, maybe the rest of the summer and the effin’ doctors bills we gotta pay now with even less money. All of it is just a real big effin’ mess. 

Cillian’s thinking the same too, but I don’t think he’s saying ‘eff,’ and I guess hell has finally frozen over cuz me and Cillian are thinking the same thing. 

It’s a full schedule too, ten different stops all thru town before noon, and all of them heavy as hell. The first one goes out at six to the big church in the middle of town, and when I say six I mean six in the morning. Mass don’t even start until nine on Wensday, I think he just likes to mess with me. I get out of the house before the sun decides to get up, help Cillian carry the heavy cardboard boxes of who-knows-what into the back of the van we leave in the lot in the post office, then sit in the front while Cillian listens to the news. 

I couldn’t really care for it if I tried, it’s all traffic and weather and ads and then more traffic. Sometimes they’ll talk about a murder, but the way the radio person says it, he may as well be talking about traffic again. I tune out. I gave up trying to change the dial a while ago, cuz Cillian always grunts at my hand and stares at it and me until I move it. He don’t like talking before eight, or much ever if we’re being honest.

The church is closer to the post office than any other of the stops, which would be nice if I wasn’t always the one who had to haul the big box all the way up the big stone steps and meet Father Aaron at the door, and today was no excepshun. 

The church is in the very middle of town, and it looks like it had been dropped down from the sky from God hisself, makin all the roads curve round it and bend into confusin intersecshuns connectin five different streets, all with loud honking cars trying to run off to wherever they need to be before the sun’s up. 

Today, as I carry Aaron’s box of bibles or pictures of Jesus bein tortured or whatever else he likes around, he stands at the the very top step of the church and looks down at me like he fancys hisself a God on his own.

But he is a sight to see, his eyes suken in and his face marred with scars and bandages that ain’t never gonna come off. Davy Jr. thinks he was attacked by an alligator when he was young, others think he’s in some kind of brawlin club, I think that God just hates him.

“Why hello, young Todd.” Father Aaron’s voice booms down at me from the top of his perfect white church steps. 

“Mornin’” I say curtly, as Ben would describe it. Aaron don’t say anything more til I finally get to the top of his steps. I put his box down careful like I’ve been doin’ since I was seven, and hand him the signiture pad without lookin up. Aaron holds it for a second, then spits,

“Meet my eyes, boy.” I wait a second then look up, square in his eye with so much force I halfway hope it knocks him flat over. I’m hoping it hides the panic (shut up) rising in my gut. He don’t move except to sign his name in sharp, quick movements, like he’s carving the paper with a knife not a pen. His big rings glints in the now rising light. I get the chills down my back and I don’t think for a second it's cuz of the balmy June weather. 

“You were late today, young Todd” He says, I want to tell him he’s wrong but zip it, like Cillian tells me to do to customers. 

“Tardiness is the mark of the sinful, boy. Will you be joining us today?” He asks, holding the signiture pad hostage. I reply like I always do. 

“I’m busy, sir, but I’ll be here Sunday.” 

“Too busy for the Lord?” He asks, I don’t say nothing, he hands back the pad. 

“Our choices reveal us. Remember that, young Todd.” He finishes, finally givin me the form. He glances real quick at Cilian in the van, then back at me.

“Yessir.” I say really quick and kinda squeaky (shut up). Then turn and run back (I said shut it). I get back in the van and buckle my seat belt. Cillian don’t say nothing, just finishes his sip of coffee from the thermos. He then hands it to me and drives on. 

Next up is the general owner Mr. Phelps. He’s a man with a kind face and an “pleasant disposishun” as Ben says. We don’t send the commerce or anything, just his things, whatever that may be. Cillian says he has a business on the side with the packages that I shouldn’t get involved in. We deliver his wife, Julie, her packages, usually something from those late night TV infomercials or the computer. Sometimes Mrs. Phelps has a bowl of candy she lets me pick a sweet out of, but I have to do it quick or Cillian tells me I can’t, that it ain’t ‘polite,’ but I always think that not taking anything wouldn’t be ‘polite.’ Anyway. 

After that is Mr. Hammar, at the gas stayshun, who just stares and stares and don’t say hi or nothin, just looks at you with a glint in his eye like you’re his supper. I don’t mind just handing his boxes of last minute repair parts or whatever else he likes to buy, and then hurrying past him.

Then we go on to deliver to Mr. Royale, Mr. Michael, Dr. Baldwin, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Turner. I know the men’s names cuz that’s the name that’s on the package for whatever reason, but I know some of them from around. Mr. Royale was my teacher when I was real little, and Dr. Baldwin is my doctor, which shouldn’t surprise anyone none cuz he is the only doctor in town, but it don’t matter cuz I already know them from their whispers. 

This is a small town, small town with small secrets, but if it hasn’t been said before, all small-town secrets aren’t really secrets cuz everybody knows them, we just have to pretend like we don’t so we can keep on pretending, like we always have and always will, with big pearly white smiles and lies, lies, lies, so some can sit on their self-rightous pedestals and point at us sinners, and so we can point and laugh right back. 

I looked out the van window and up at the blue, blue, summer sky and think.

Cuz that’s all these towns are about, ain’t they. Not community or hospitality or whatever comes spewing out of the people on TV who ain’t never lived in a small town in their life, it’s about how pretty your life can look to everybody but you. Sometimes I swear I can almost hear everything everybody is thinking, we all can, all of it being what we want and what we need and what’s worse, all the lies we believe.

Cillian slams on the breaks and packages in the back fly and hit the door with a dull thud! And then an even duller one when they hit the floor. Cillian curses under his breathe and jabs at the horn for a short second. I look back to see what had happened but the cars just drove by like nothing happened. I didn’t bother to ask.

“Are you alright?” Cillian asks me. I nod.

“I said, are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah.” I say, and dare to roll my eyes cuz I know he ain’t lookin. He turns down the radio a little bit, like he’s about to say something important. I look over at him. 

If Cillian had to be described in one word I would say it would be stern. His eyes are set and look like they’re frowning at everything and everyone. His gaze bores holes into you, not angry ones or searching ones, just strong ones, firm ones, the kind men give each other when they’re trying to size each other up. His face is square and bristly, with a patch of stubble covering everything from his ears down his jaw and up to his nose and even down past his chin a little, even tho he shaves every night and morning. His face is set like his eyes, firm and sure, like the cliff faces high up above the river our town is next to. His hands are big. So big, one of them can hold a full-sized pumpkin without even trying. His hands wrap round the steering wheel like the vines round our chimney and yet, sitting here in traffic he loosens them, just a little. He takes in a deep breathe, moving his whole giant chest up and down for a moment.

“So, uh, how are you, Todd?” He asks. I frown at him real quick for a second but go back to looking blank like I did before. 

“Uh, I’m good. How are you?” I say and ask. Even tho I’m not good, I’m tired and mad, and I know what he’s gonna say anyway so I don’t gotta ask.

“I’m fine, sport.” he says, then instantly puckers his mouth in a little, like ‘sport’ is some kind of bitter taste he’s not too sure of. I frown again too, he never calls me ‘sport.’ We pull up to a stop sign at a road that never ever gives you an opening to go on. I lean back and so does he. 

“So, uh, what are you thinking of doing this summer?” He asks. I feel like all this frowning is getting repetitive. 

“I’m deliver boxes with you, right? Cuz of Ben’s ankle.”

“Right, right, but uh, what else do you want to do?” He asks, then sneaks a look at me. We still haven’t turned yet. 

I hadn’t thought about it. Even before Ben hurt his ankle I thought I would end up helping out shipping anyway, Ben and Cillian never get any breaks from work, or not enough to go anywhere, and we don’t have any money laying around where we can even go anywhere anyway. Davy had told me and everybody back at school that his dad was sending him away to a fancy baseball camp for a few weeks, and everybody else seemed to be away somewhere, even tho most of them stay here like me. 

“I dunno.” I say. Cillian thinks for a second.

“Don’t you have any friends to visit?” I looked away.

 

“All my friends went away for summer.” I lie. I feel bad about it for a minute but it’s better than having to explain to him that I don’t. I have friends, okay? Plenty of friends, so shut it. We just, don’t really talk outside of school. Either way, I can have fun without other people, I do, all the time, or I would if I didn’t have to deliver all these stupid packages all the time. I think about saying that to him but there’s really no point so I just shut it. 

“Well, uh, we can do something.” He says, real quiet-like, which makes me look right back at him.

“Cillian, are you, feelin alright?” I ask. 

“Yeah, Todd, just forget it, nevermind.” He says, then before I can say anything else he turns up the radio too loud. We finally get an opening into traffic.

My last delivery before noon and before we go home to eat lunch and to check up on Ben, who’s layin up like a sick dog and moaning about how he wishes he could get back to work, is to the Haven Bookshop. It’s a big delivery too, but I can’t imagine why cuz I ain’t never see anybody in there. Cillian get out with me on this one, and he lifts the hatch wide and hands me the boxes of what I guess must be books.

The store has a small wooden sign above the green door, spelling out HAVEN in gold paint and in cursive, which I’ve never been any good at reading. The door is wedged between the adjacent coffeeshop and a big bay window, which is littered in books on stands and books sitting under books. Beyond the piles and piles of books is a dusty and ratty red curtain, pulled aside just so someone can look in and see the long aisles of tall bookshelves inside that look like they can go on forever. Vines cover the bricks of the wall of the building on all sides, going up and up and up until they curl into the gutter. Ben once called it quaint, Cillian calls it cluttered. I don’t know how they can even be around each other. 

Cillian hands me one box and the signature pad, which I have to carry with two hands and then try to stick under my arm to open the door. I can’t (shut up) so I set it on the ground next to it and yank on the door knob. The door opens with a long creeeeak like its bones are slowly cracking. A bell somewhere deep inside rings out, but nothing else happens inside. I nudge a rock on the side of the door to prop it open then pick up the box, grunting a little. I walk inside, and the floorboards creak, short but loud and sudden like frogs in the pond down in the park Ben and Cillian used to take me to when I was little.

“Hello?” I say. Silence. The room is dusty, so dusty that when I take another step inside dust flies up into the air like scared flocks of birds, and swirls and swirls and swirls like galaxies. The shelves are packed with books, some books are in front of others, like they ran out of room for them, and the signs that say what kind of books there are are yellowing, just like the pages of the books pushed towards the back. I see one sign is only staying on one of the shelves by a single corner of paper.

“We have yer books.” I say, a little bit louder. 

“Hello?” I say, even louder. I hear some creaking from across the room and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight (I’m not scared, I’m not). Then a small voice from the same direcshun calls out, 

“Just a minute, please!” and then more creaks as whoever it is moves away.

 

I look round again, and my eyes falls on a book, a bunch of them, well, copies of them. One of them is on a stand and a small index card that says “Book of the Week!” There’s a little heart around the point in the exclamayshun point, and it's all in green ink. The book is a paperback, and on the cover there is a little man looking out a big round door into a great big green field. Above the man in big bold gold letters is the name of the book, The Hobbit and below the little man’s feet is some more words, the author’s name “J.R.R. Tolkien.” I remember Ben saying something about a movie based off of books by him. He really liked them, Cillian couldn’t really care one way or the other for them, I think. He doesn’t like reading much, I guess that’s one other thing we have in common. 

“Hi.” I look round to see who said hi, and I see that it's a girl out of the blue from nowhere and I don’t know why it surprises me so much, but I feel like something just whacked me across the head. She’s a young girl, she looks about my age, and who’s covered in sunlight from the bay window, like she’s bathing in it. She’s pulled her hair up and covered in dust like she rolled round on the ground in here. Her eyes are shinning too but she’s squinting, cuz of the light I guess. She’s wearing a name tag, a funny lookin one that’s laminated and handwritten in cursive.

V- that’s a v, and then an i, then an, e, or an a? No wait, no it’s an o, so vio, then an l, and then an, o? Violo? I squint harder, just a little and stick my head out a little more, it’s an a, her name, it’s Viola.

Viola

She’s just standing there, looking. For some reason there is this pulling inside me, like she’s a black hole and I’m just space junk she’s trying to inhale. Like she’s a whirlpool and I’m just trapped in the water. And its small but it’s there, this pulling of her’s, and its pulling so hard at the very center of me and I don’t know what to effin do about it because it’s so new and strange and surprising. My heart decides to fling itself against my rib cage and I’m suddenly too aware of my sweat-soaked ugly shirt and how I forgot to brush my hair this morning. 

And I realize that she’s just starin at me, waiting for something. I wonder for a minute if she feels this pulling too, wonder if she’s gonna say something about it, or anything. I finally put it together and realize that I have the pad and that she has to sign it, and instead maybe putting the box on the ground or acting like a real man and holding the goddam box with one arm to grab the effing signiture pad and handing it to her, I decide to tip the box so it slides down effing falls, falls, falls thru her hands she threw out trying to grab it and onto the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She says, even tho I’m the one who messed up, and bends down to grab it, then I finally realize that I should be helping her, so I put the package down, finally and I bend down too right when her heads comin up and bam! My eyes snap shut and pain shoots up my nose real quick like a bullet.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” She says again, and again it’s not her fault and I should tell her that and I’m lookin up and I realize I am real close to her face, and so I shoot up real quick after that.

She looks at me and then her face cracks into a smile of all things and I’ve never been more confused in my life.

“What, you don’t talk?” She asks, looping her letters on the paper with the same pen Aaron treated like a knife this morning on the church steps and then handing it to me.

And I want to say, I talk, I can talk but I just can’t. For some stupid, goddam reason I can’t open my goddam mouth and goddam speak. Looking at her again, the pulling is still there, and strong and almost hurting, and I feel something burning in my chest, something like it’s drilling a hole so deep right into my very being and it’s enough to tear you apart and put you together again and I don’t know what’s happening but I feel like I can just, just almost cry (shut up). 

So I stand there like an effing idiot staring at her even tho I did my job and I need to get home to Ben and my stupid dog that needs walkin and-

“I saw that you glanced at our book of the week.” She says, smiling a little smile, like it’s our secret. I nod. 

“It’s one of my favorite’s, that’s why I put it up. Have you read it?” She asks. I shake my head, even tho I obviously should say I have, so she doesn’t think I’m an effing idiot, but it must be a little late for that.

“You should.” She says and for some reason my mouth decides to unhinge just then and say, 

“I don’t have any money.” Great, now she knows I ain’t got any money and I can’t read anything. She stops smiling. Effing stupid idiot.

“Oh, well,” She looks around real quick then looks back, and she’s looking back at me again. “Technically I’m not authorized to do this but, because it’s a shame you haven’t read The Hobbit I’ll make a deal with you.” I look at the book and back and my brow is knitted up like a knot I’m frowning so hard. 

“I know we have a shipment every Wednesday, so how about next week, you bring it back and no one ever has to be the wiser.” And she’s looking at me and her eyes are shining and suddenly I’m nodding and she’s grabbing a book off the display and shoving it in my hands. I can’t say what’s running thru my head, which is mainly that I can’t read and Cilian would kill me but I don’t say nothing, just hold the book in my hands with the signiture pad and I say,

“Thank you.” Then before she can say something else that sends my head spinning or the pulling or aching or whatever builds up even more I’m running out the door like a burglar (Which I guess I am) and kicking the rock that held the door in place out of the way, and I’m running in the van and holding the book close to my chest under the signiture pad and when I get in the van I keep it hidden by putting in against my thigh as I pull the van door shut and latch it tight.

“What took you so long?” He, Cillian, asks. 

“Uh, nothing, she just was busy with somethin before she could get to me.” I say quick and I feel like I’m hiding something but I don’t know what. 

“She?” Cillian asks. I nod.

“Yeah, Viola.”

“And she worked there?” He asks. I probably should have mentioned that.

“Yeah.” I say, Cillian keeps driving.

The drive home is short. We have deliveries in the afternoon so we don’t even bother to go back to the post office and drop off the van. Cillian don’t say nothing else and I watch my I guess stolen goods, and pray to whoever’s listening that I can smuggle it past Ben and Cillian. It’s easy anyway because Cillian asks me to go back and count the boxes we have and check them off anyway, so when he pulls up to the house and gets out I tuck the book into my short’s waistband under my too-big-shirt after taking inventory, and then run inside. 

Ben’s propped up on the couch, foot in a big cast and Cillian is sitting right next to him, talking about his day or whatever they like to talk about. As I shut the door and pull off my boots Ben turns round and waves.

“Hiya Todd.” He says, overly cheerful and smiling bright. He looks like the opposite of Cillian. His face is round and always smooth and he looks at you like he’s just waiting for you to go ahead and say something, like he would really listen to you. 

“Hi Ben.” I say back, smiling back. Then, like a hurricane of fur and tail wagging and dog spit Manchee’s jumping up and barking barking barking like he ain’t seen me in months. Stupid dog. I rub him twixt his ears and kick at his hind legs and miss so he moves. 

“Deliveries go okay?” Ben asks. Cillian would have told him already if something was wrong, but he’ll still ask anyway.

“No.” I say, then turn to run upstairs, making sure to hide my side where the book threatens to slip through my pants and land on the ground, like a smokin gun. I’ve only gone up three steps before Cillian asks, 

“What’s the big rush?” And I almost panic even tho I ain’t got anything to panic over, or maybe I do, I’m not too sure.

“Just wanna put on a new shirt.” I say, then dash up the rest of the way before they can interrogate me more. Manchee runs up behind me and I can’t help that. I try to shut my bedroom door on him but he sneak thru anyway and so he gets to see my secret as I untuck it out of my pants and look at the cover again.

I’m not too sure why I’m keeping this book so secret, other than it may be considered a felony, but I’m not too sure why I even accepted it. 

It’s no secret. I don’t like reading too much letters like to move on the page when I read them and flip round and it just takes too damn long and is too hard, especially when I got TV to watch and games to play and a thousand other more fun things.

But here I am, sitting in my room holding a little green book I technically stole that a girl like a black hole gave me, and what’s even stranger is that I’m actually considerin readin it. 

I look to Manchee, and he just looks back, mouth open and tongue hanging out as he waits for me to get up to walk him. It’s stupid. I put the book down and change into a new shirt, even tho I’ll sweat thru this one too. 

And I almost make it thru the door when I remember the smile she gave me, like it was our secret and how let me borrow a book even tho she don’t know me like she just trusts me right away.

I look back at my nightstand where I left it, and somehow I’m closing the door and grabbing it and flipping to the first page without thinkin about it anymore

And I start readin.


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE AND IMPORTANT MESSAGE

Hey there Whirlers!

so,,, I know,, I haven't,,, updated this,,,,, in literal MONTHS and the reason is because I want to make changes to the current chapter and the story's format,, so I will be taking so more time (sorry!) to just write the whole thing in one chapter and upload that way with those changes. We'll see how long that takes. I might work on other stuff but OPAP is gonna be under major construction. I will eventually post the full text in one chapter under this same name. Thanks for understanding!

**Author's Note:**

> I love dsylexic!Todd fite me


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